


there goes the last great american dynasty

by QueenIsabelle



Category: The Inheritance Games - Jennifer Lynn Barnes
Genre: Aged-Up AU, F/F, F/M, Hawthorne Foundation, I just really needed some content of the inheritance games, M/M, Past Relationships, Slow Burn, but not too slow, probably, so i hope this gets the ball rolling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26636695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenIsabelle/pseuds/QueenIsabelle
Summary: Avery Grambs and her sister move to Texas for their new jobs, both working for the Hawthorne family. There, Avery gets to know the Hawthorne family - the mischievous patriarch, the conniving daughters, the charming grandsons. But it seems that Avery was brought there for a purpose, and she's determined to find out what - and keep her heart in the process.
Relationships: Avery Grambs/Grayson Hawthorne, Rebecca Laughlin/Thea Calligaris, Xander Hawthorne/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	there goes the last great american dynasty

**Author's Note:**

> I just really needed more content of The Inheritance Games so....  
> Please write some with me?

_Tobias Hawthorne, age 82, stands at the podium, giving his speech for the annual Hawthorne Foundation Charity Ball._

I looked at the picture above the caption, at the man with gray hair and gray eyes, a mischievous spark still there despite his age. I scrolled farther down in the article on my phone, skimming through the words and pictures. _Richest man in Texas. Gives away 100 million dollars a year._ That number took my breath away. Was I really going to be working for a foundation that gave away a hundred million dollars a year? Was Libby really going to be working for a man like that, personally?

“Are you looking at that article again?” Libby said, leaning over in her seat. She set her cup of Coke down on the tray and squinted at my phone. “No matter how many times you read it, the words aren’t going to change.”

“I just can’t believe that, somehow, we both managed to find jobs working for a guy like this. I mean, it doesn’t seem real,” I said. I scrolled back up to the picture. He looked like any old man, I supposed, if not for the tuxedo. I didn’t know what brand it was or how much it cost, but I knew one thing for certain— _expensive_.

“Good afternoon, folks, this is your captain speaking.” The overhead speaker crackled to life. “We will be landing shortly, so please buckle up and return your seats and trays to their upright position.”

Libby quickly downed the remainders of her Coke as the stewardess walked by and tossed it in the trash bag, thanking her softly. Then, she turned back to me.

“Believe it, little sis. I know we haven’t had the best luck—”

I snorted. “Understatement of the decade.” _My mom dying, her mom’s abuse, her abusive ex-boyfriend, our shared father, fighting to make rent, losing my scholarship the last year of college_. The list went on.

Libby shot me a look. “ _But_ things are turning around. We pulled through— _you_ pulled through. I’m proud of you, Avery.” She pulled me into a one-armed hug. I couldn’t help but smile and snuggle into her.

She was right. It had been a lot of sleepless nights, working three jobs while finishing up my degree and running some maybe-illegal poker games, but it had been worth it. Barely a month after I graduated from the University of Connecticut, Libby had gotten a call, asking her to transfer to Dallas, Texas to work personally for an older woman. Originally, Libby had been hesitant about leaving me, but that was when the mysterious caller had informed her that there was a job opportunity for me as well.

I still half-expected us to land in Dallas to a bunch of cameras from one of those prank TV shows.

But Libby was ever the optimist, and she’d interviewed with the lady and had assured me she was legitimate. I would be interviewing for my job tomorrow morning—an actuary at the Hawthorne Foundation. I was slightly worried about not having a set job before moving out here, but I knew that with my major, I was marketable and that I would land on my feet. Plus, Libby’s new paycheck blew her old one out of the water.

The plane started to descend. I quickly shut my phone off and dropped it in my lap. My questions would get answered soon enough.

* * *

The house that Libby had found on Zillow to rent was surprisingly nice. I knew that we had a little more money to spend now with her new job, and hopefully mine soon, but we weren’t the type to splurge. Libby glanced back at me apologetically as she unlocked the door.

“So, I thought this house was super nice when I saw it online, and then I did the virtual tour so I could see it, and it was all just so cute that I didn’t really think through the implications and—”

“What, Lib?” I asked.

“Okay, so it only has one bedroom. But it has two bathrooms!” Libby said, finally flinging the door open. I stepped inside to the nicest house I had ever seen. It was impeccably clean, with hardwood floors and light gray walls and—

“Is that a fireplace?” I asked, pointing.

Libby nodded excitedly. “Yeah!” Then, she sobered. “I may have let the fireplace cloud my judgement a little bit.”

“Libby, it’s fine. I slept on the couch in your apartment. Hell, sometimes I slept in my car,” I said.

“I wish you wouldn’t bring that up,” Libby said, hugging her elbows. “I just, I wanted this to be different, you know?”

“It is different, Libby.” I grabbed her hands and squeezed them. “One, this is the biggest place I’ve ever lived. Two, your piece of shit ex-boyfriend isn’t going to be living with us. And three, there’s a fireplace.”

“Okay, well, you can obviously have the bedroom, and I’ll—”

“No, I’m taking the living room,” I said. Libby gave me a look.

“Avery, I’m not arguing about this.”

“Neither am I.”

“Then we’re splurging on one of those sofas with a hidden bed,” Libby said. “And you get my closet.”

“What? No,” I said.

“I wear scrubs. You’re going to have to wear nicer clothes. You’ll need some place to hang them up,” she said. I groaned.

“Avery, if you’re not taking the room, then I’m not taking the closet.”

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. “Fine.”

“And we’re getting you a bed,” she added. I groaned again as I heard her walk away, footsteps echoing on the floor. “Oh, and I almost forgot! I applied to adopt a cat!”

“Wait, what?” My eyes snapped open. “Libby!”

* * *

Six o’clock came too early the next morning. I dragged myself out of bed and to the shower, washing away the flight from yesterday and the minimal amount of sleep I’d gotten. When I stepped out, Libby was still sound asleep in bed. I threw one of my old Converse at her head.

“Libby, get up! Don’t you have to be there at eight?” I said as she sat up quickly, blue hair a mess.

“Yes, but I don’t have to look nice. I told you, I have scrubs.” She flopped back down. I sighed.

“Don’t fall back asleep,” I warned as I left the room in search of clothes. I’d packed some of my nicer things in a suitcase to take with me on the flight, as the moving truck wouldn’t be here until this weekend. I zipped it open and rifled through my things, settling on a pair of dress pants and a sleeveless blouse. I found a pair of heels that I could walk in and put my hair up in a sleek ponytail. I glanced in the mirror—the young woman staring back looked like someone who could work for a foundation that gave away one hundred million dollars a year. I might actually have a shot at this.

I took out my phone and snapped a picture, sending it to Max. _First day of my (hopeful) new job._

Her reply was instantaneous: _Good luck, beach._

I chuckled. Three years out of her house, and she still didn’t cuss in texts. I sent a quick reply thanking her.

“Okay, so Mr. Hawthorne was nice enough to send a car for us since mine is on its way from Connecticut,” Libby said, walking into the room. She was dressed in dark purple scrubs with flowers and her hair was pulled up in a bun.

“What’s with the flowers?” I asked.

“I didn’t want to scare them the first day,” Libby said, shrugging.

“I didn’t think you owned scrubs with flowers.”

Libby looked at the floor sheepishly. “I bought them at Wal-Mart the day before we flew out,” she confessed. I laughed and pulled her in for a hug.

“Just be yourself, Lib,” I told her. “They’ll love you. You’re great with old people.”

Libby gave me a look. “Please don’t say that to any of the Hawthornes. It doesn’t exactly sound professional.”

I snorted. “Please, like I’ll meet any of the Hawthornes.”

* * *

Tobias Hawthorne met me at the door.

_Shit,_ I thought, _shit, shit, shit, shit_. I plastered on a smile as I stepped through the door.

“Avery Grambs,” Mr. Hawthorne said. His voice was a low baritone, and he spoke kindly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You too.” I took his outstretched hand and shook it, internally berating myself. _You too? That’s the best you can do, Avery?_

“Let me show you around,” he said, motioning with his head for me to follow. “This is the lobby.” I took in the large room, all in shades of gray. The walls were filled with pictures that took my breath away. Mr. Hawthorne continued walking before I could get a good look at any particular picture, and I made a mental note to observe them more when I had time. I followed the old man through hallways and open spaces, as he pointed out offices and conference rooms. The ceilings were high, glass walls and windows separated most of the spaces to create an open concept. It was all incredible.

“And this is my office.” Mr. Hawthorne held open the door for me. I walked through. There was a large mahogany desk in the middle of the room; it looked complicated, like one that had a hundred secret compartments. The wall behind the desk was made entirely of windows, while the one to the right was filled with shelves of books. My fingers itched to explore the titles, but I held them firmly to my sides. “Please, Miss Grambs, sit.” There were several chairs across from his desk. I chose the one closest to his desk and sat.

“I’ve been watching you, Avery—can I call you Avery?” Speechless, I nodded. He continued. “You came to my attention several years ago, when you founded a club to help end homelessness in your hometown. Fundraisers, petitions, rallies. It was all very impressive. What inspired you to do that?”

It took me a moment to realize that he was waiting for an answer. “Oh, I, uh, I was friends with a homeless man in the park. We played chess. If I won, he had to let me buy him breakfast. Eventually, I realized that I wanted to help him with more than a free breakfast sandwich.”

Mr. Hawthorne surveyed me with that twinkle in his eye. “And you went to college for actuarial science?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It’s one of the most marketable jobs in the industry,” I answered honestly. Hesitantly, I added, “And it can be done remotely. I’ve always wanted to travel.”

“I see. I also see that you graduated in three years magna cum laude,” he continued, glancing down at the papers on his desk. Did he have my records? How did he have my records?

“Yes,” I said, making myself forget about the records. He was one of the richest people in the country. What couldn’t he get his hands on?

He hummed. “Would you say that you want to help people, Avery?”

“Um, well, yes.”

“Why didn’t you major in something else, then? Like nonprofit management?”

“Sometimes you have to help yourself to help someone else,” I said. “When I first started college, my sister was in a bad relationship. I’d hoped that with money and resources, I’d be able to get her out of it. But I never forgot about Harry.”

“The man in the park?”

“Yes. I just… had to take care of myself. You know, that saying? You can’t fill someone else’s cup if yours is empty?”

“That’s a very wise statement, Avery.” Mr. Hawthorne nodded at me, flipping the file on his desk closed. “I have a position that I’d like to offer you. It would make use of your degree while also enabling you to help in the areas that you’re passionate about, particularly the issue of homelessness and domestic violence. Is that something that you would be interested in?”

I blinked. “Yes, definitely.”

“Wonderful. Now—” There was a knock on the door behind me. Mr. Hawthorne smiled. “Right on time. Come in.”

“You wanted to see me?” The voice was a guy’s—low, self-assured, the tone of voice that only people who had everything could use. It was also infuriatingly pleasant.

“Yes, Grayson. This is Avery Grambs. She went to college for actuarial science. She’s going to be working with you on studying the modes of charitable giving,” Mr. Hawthorne said. I turned around in my seat to look at the person who had just entered the room. I felt my breath hitch. 

The guy, Grayson, stood just inside the doorway dressed in an impeccable gray suit. He was tall, with waves of blond hair pushed back from his forehead and a jawline that could cut glass. But it was his eyes that made me pause—liquid gray, they seemed to shift under the lights as he looked at me. The corners of his mouth twitched up.

“Avery, this is my grandson, Grayson Hawthorne,” Mr. Hawthorne informed me. 

My eyes widened. “Oh.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Grayson Hawthorne said, striding forward to stand before the desk. I stood as well and took his proffered hand to shake. I ignored the small sparks his touch sent up my arm, the strength of his fingers closing over my own. The loss of warmth when he removed his palm was unfortunate.

 _Get a grip, Avery._ “You too.” _Dammit, again?_

“Well, now that the introductions are done, I suppose I better let you get to work. Avery, do you have any questions before I leave you in Grayson’s capable hands?”

I fought to keep the blush from rising to my cheeks. “No, thank you. I really appreciate this opportunity.”

Mr. Hawthorne smiled, twinkle appearing once more. “I trust you’ll do great things.”


End file.
